


The Best Birthday Gift of All

by politicalmamaduck



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Cutesy, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:08:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/pseuds/politicalmamaduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the morning of his birthday after the Battle of the Five Armies, Bilbo receives the greatest gift he could ever ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Birthday Gift of All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [getupandgo2011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/getupandgo2011/gifts).



> Written for the lovely royaldurins on Tumblr in honor of her birthday, 8th November.

Bilbo sighed, putting down his teacup. The tea settled, seemingly mocking him with its translucent color. He just couldn’t seem to get it to taste right.

Nothing tasted right anymore. Cooking over his kitchen hearth was not the same as cooking over a campfire in the wilderness, with an orc pack at their back…

Enough of that, Bilbo thought. It’s over. It’s all over. I’m home now. I’m safe now.

He would never forget the cold sinking into his bones, the high altitude, the shortness of breath that dogged his every desperate step.

He could remember perfectly how it felt to have Thorin grasping his hand, clutching it as he clung to the last tendrils of life on Ravenhill. The piercing blue of his eyes seemed to match the ice perfectly, an ironic twist at Bilbo’s heart.

After Thorin’s death, and finding out about the deaths of both Fili and Kili, with the carnage of what they were now calling the Battle of Five Armies everywhere he turned, Bilbo couldn’t bear to stay in the Lonely Mountain any longer. He didn’t even stay for the lavish, elaborate Dwarven funeral to celebrate their king’s life—he couldn’t bear to see it, to think of Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli, who were so vibrant and full of life, encased underneath hard stone, cold and unfeeling.

He and Gandalf departed early the morning of the funerals, after a tearful goodbye and promises of visits with the remainder of Thorin’s Company.

Bilbo didn’t look back. He did not dare to think about what he had lost on Ravenhill.

And so the days passed, with Bilbo attempting to find the quiet contentment that eluded him. How he had missed his books, his armchair, his respectable and quiet life! But now that he had returned to them, he found them quite lacking. A dwarf sized presence seemed to shadow him everywhere. He tossed and turned in his comfortable feather bed, having become accustomed to falling asleep on hard rocks, on piles of leaves, anywhere he could steal a wink of sleep.

He attempted to re-acclimatize himself to the banalities of life in Hobbiton; to adjust to not having to carry his sword around with him everywhere, to make small talk with his neighbors and answer their never-ending questions about his adventure. Each day dawned with Bilbo staring down into his cup of tea as if it held the answers to his questions, as if he could stare into its depths and wish himself somewhere else. As if its heat would erase the cold he could still feel down in his bones, centered near his heart.

Time went on, seemingly without Bilbo even realizing that the days were passing, one after the other.

The morning of September 22 dawned, and Bilbo found himself dreading the endless parade of birthday guests and well-wishers and do-gooders and Sackville-Bagginses that would inevitably tramp through his house. This same lot had declared him dead and attempted to steal all his things a scant few months earlier, and he was not exactly in the mood to deal with them.

He poured his tea, tittering and tottering away in his kitchen, tut-tuting in the main hall, going over all of the gifts he had prepared for his birthday.

 _BANG! BANG! BANG!_ Went the front door.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” Bilbo said, hurrying towards the door. It’s a little early for guests, he thought. Who could possibly want to see me so badly that they’re making a ruckus like that?

Bilbo couldn’t believe what he was seeing as he opened his door. He rubbed his eyes, thinking his lack of sleep was causing him to see things that weren’t really there. He blinked, unable to comprehend the reality of what had appeared before him.

_Thorin Oakenshield._

_Fíli and Kíli, grinning beside him._

_This could not possibly be happening._

_They’re dead, I watched them die._

All of a sudden he was embraced in an all too familiar, all too tight Dwarven hug. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Boggins! You didn’t think we’d forget your birthday, did you?” bellowed Kíli, and Bilbo pulled back from the hug to stop and just gawk at his entirely unexpected visitors.

“But, but, you’re dead,” Bilbo said. “You’re all dead, you died on Ravenhill.”

“We are not dead, Bilbo,” said Thorin, very calmly and majestically.

“We were merely in comas,” said Fíli gallantly.“Gandalf realized it eventually, but it still took a great deal of time to recover. The elves helped too, with their weird chanting and kingsfoil.”

“The elves chanting is not weird!” said Kíli, giving his brother a shove.

“Enough,” proclaimed Thorin, separating his nephews and stepping forward to take Bilbo’s arm. “Happy birthday, Master Baggins. Many happy returns.” Having said this, Thorin clasped Bilbo to him in another great hug that left Bilbo grasping for breath.

He still couldn’t believe what was happening, even as he invited his returned from the dead Dwarven friends into his smial for tea and scones before the rest of the guests arrived. He could barely take in their chatter, their questions about what he had been doing since he returned home; he had no idea how he answered them or what really he had been doing since he returned home; all he could think about was that Thorin Oakenshield was standing in his kitchen, holding a cup of tea, very much alive. Bilbo couldn’t stop staring at him, as if he took his eyes away for a moment Thorin would disappear, that if he rubbed his eyes they would all be gone.

The party seemed to rush by in a blur. Bilbo vaguely remembered greeting hundreds of hobbits, handing out gifts, shaking hands all as he was supposed to do. What he did remember was being constantly aware of Thorin’s physical presence, the way he inclined his head as he politely answered a myriad of hobbit questions. The way the lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled whilst playing with the children, scooping them up and tossing them. Fíli and Kíli too had a natural gift for entertaining and soothing the children with funny faces and ridiculous stories.

When it was all over, Bilbo offered his choicest rooms to his royal companions. Fíli and Kíli retired, claiming they had consumed far too much food, which Bilbo, having seen their appetites throughout the journey, suspected was merely an excuse.

He was nervous, wringing his hands and futzing in his kitchen as usual. What could he say to Thorin? What could he possibly say to someone who returned from the dead; to someone he had been wishing would return every day for the past months?

_I was devastated when I thought you were dead._

_I never said what I should have said to you on Ravenhill._

_I have so many regrets._

_I lo…no, I care very deeply about you._

None of it seemed to matter, though. Bilbo’s racing mind stopped, along with his heart, when Thorin smiled at him and took his hand as they sat in companion armchairs, ever-ready cups of tea by their sides.

“My Bilbo,” said Thorin. “You are my greatest treasure of all.”

And that was all Bilbo needed to hear to realize that nothing else really mattered. How they really survived those catastrophic injuries, why they decided to visit Bag End, how they had gotten away from their royal duties…the many questions Bilbo had wanted to ask melted away as he leaned in for a birthday kiss.

And he realized that he enjoyed receiving, as well as giving, birthday surprises.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive feedback much appreciated! I've stepped quite a bit out of my comfort zone to write this pairing, which was very exciting (and nerve-wracking), so I'd love to hear your thoughts. You can find me on tumblr at politicalmamaduck.tumblr.com.


End file.
